


That Which We Call a Rose

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [21]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adrenaline, Adrenaline-fueled Sex, After Battle Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Armor Kink, Bottom Tony, Bottom Tony Stark, Costume Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Hints of Dom/sub Dynamics, Intense Sex, Laughter, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Top Steve, Top Steve Rogers, Uniform Kink, after-battle sex, costume sex, sex in the armor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 03:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: “Right,” he said. “Don’t stop.  I gotcha.”  He leaned forward, his knee pushing Tony’s armor-covered leg out wider, bending his knee against the wall, and his hand came up, leather-covered palm pushing at the back of Tony’s neck, over the metal edge of the neckpiece, against the soft skin just under his hair, and squeezed, holding him down.  “I’m going to make you take it, buster,” he murmured, and his voice, his breath, was soft against Tony’s skin, warm against his hair. “I’m going to hold you down, right here, Shellhead, and push into you, and have you.  You want that, fella?  You like that?”Written for Day Twenty-Three of Kinktober: Against a Wall.





	That Which We Call a Rose

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_ , to be precise. I figure that was probably pretty obvious.

Steve pushed him back bodily against the wall, and Tony laughed, couldn’t help it, as he hit with a loud, clanking clang, the metal of the armor reverberating against the sturdy wall of his workshop.  Steve could just shove him around so easily, even in the armor, bouncing him off the wall as Tony tossed his helmet onto the nearby work table and curled his gauntleted hands around Steve’s still-cowled head, against his ears, pulling him into a kiss.  Steve shoved up into it, mouth hot and searing against Tony’s, tilting into the kiss, knocking him back against the wall as if making up for the slight height advantage Tony had over him in the armor with pure searing passion, the heat of his mouth, his teeth pressing into Tony’s bottom lip until it stung sweetly, Steve’s tongue in his mouth, hands firm against his armored shoulders.  He was still laughing, breathlessly, as Steve pulled away, sucked wet, softer kisses down along his jaw, his neck, above the metal line of the armor, not ones that would leave marks, but that made Tony shiver, from pure pleasure and happiness, he figured, not sure why he couldn’t stop laughing, just that he adored Steve’s roughness, felt it kick something in him up into a hot, higher gear, answering that adrenaline, that heat, that fire in Steve, somehow.  It had been a good mission, a good fight, the rare time that everything had gone smoothly and he was just riding high on the adrenaline, with just a little bit of a ragged edge, a spike, from the danger.

Steve grabbed Tony’s face, grinning up at him, muttered, “What’s so funny, Shellhead?” grinning like an idiot himself, wide and bright, and pressed another hot, bruising kiss into his mouth.  Tony felt more than heard himself moan, pressing into it, Steve’s fingers curling back through his hair, and then Steve was pulling away, panting, still grinning, tugging his cowl back off his head to reveal tousled blond hair and the bright-eyed wild grin on his face.

“No idea,” Tony said, still grinning.  He felt hot, lightheaded.  “The fact that you’re still trying to throw me around, even in the suit, I guess.” He squeezed at Steve’s shoulders with his gauntleted hands.  “Doing a pretty good job, too,” he pointed out.

Steve’s grin was lighting up his face, his eyes.  “Well, you’re lettin’ me,” he said, always fair.  “You like that?”

“I might like it, yeah,” Tony said, still smiling.  He felt breathless.

“Mmm,” Steve said, and his hand curled in the back of Tony’s hair, squeezed, all leather and firm strength, against the back of his neck.  “I figured.  Since you’re letting me.”  He pushed there at the back of Tony’s neck, tilted his head down into another kiss, sucking and licking his way wetly into Tony’s mouth.  Steve always kissed with such intensity, and when he kissed hot and wet and dirty like that, it was like all the oxygen in the world disappeared at once for Tony, like it went straight to his dick, and all he could do was kiss him back.  “You in the mood?” Steve whispered against his lips, and Tony knew he was asking him about more than sex.

“Am I ever, Winghead,” he murmured, still smiling, Steve’s eyes bright and blue and beaming up into his. “I want you to wreck me, you hear?” 

“Oh, I can do that,” Steve murmured back, smiled and leaned in so that his nose and lips bumped, nuzzled, against Tony’s cheek, against his jaw, and then his hand was gripping tight at the shoulder of Tony’s armor, his other hand sliding down from the back of Tony’s neck to his armor between the shoulders, and he spun him around, shoved him up hard against the wall, knocking Tony’s legs apart wide so his boots slid, groaning, along the floor, and pressed in close, the armor’s sensors registering the warmth of his body, the pressure where he was right up against Tony’s back, all down along his back, his ass, his hips.  Steve’s breath huffed, warm, over his ear, and Tony felt a hot shiver go down his spine, felt something in himself relax, go limp, let his head tip forward and his forehead lean into the wall, against it.  Steve’s arm was firm between his shoulders, sliding over to lie against them and press down, and then Steve was whispering in his ear, hoarse and husky and already so damn deep, so damn sexual, “Like that?”

Tony felt so—so warm and loose and soft already, but he managed to husk out, “It might be a start, if you don’t _stop_ , mister,” and heard Steve laugh, low and rough and warm, against his neck. 

“Right,” he said. “Don’t stop.  I gotcha.”  He leaned forward, his knee pushing Tony’s armor-covered leg out wider, bending his knee against the wall, and his hand came up, leather-covered palm pushing at the back of Tony’s neck, over the metal edge of the neckpiece, against the soft skin just under his hair, and squeezed, holding him down.  “I’m going to make you take it, buster,” he murmured, and his voice, his breath, was soft against Tony’s skin, warm against his hair. “I’m going to hold you down, right here, Shellhead, and push into you, and have you.  You want that, fella?  You like that?”

“You’re the one in _charge_ ,” Tony managed to grit out, breathily. “I’m _yours_.  Now _make me_ , you hear?  Or all you just all talk, old man?”

“Forget about it,” Steve said, laughing, New York starting to creep into his voice, and pushed Tony’s head, hard, against the wall, so that Tony’s cheek slid against the rough surface, grabbing the wrists of the armor with both hands and slamming them hard against the wall like he might if he actually wanted to disable Iron Man for some reason, and it sent a strange frisson of pleasure through Tony’s entire body, straight to his cock, which strained against the tight containing pressure of the protective plate of the armor.  “You love this,” he said, and sucked a wet, hot kiss over the back of Tony’s neck.  “You’re not going to stop me.  Not for a second.  Because I’d leave you here alone and go rub one out without you, and that, Shellhead, would make. You.  Crazy.” He punctuated each of the last words by rubbing up against Tony’s ass, through the suit, a sinuous roll of his hips and back each time, and sure, Tony couldn’t feel it, but the sensors in the suit were flashing all at once in front of his eyes, telling him exactly how Steve was undulating his hips, rubbing his cock through his uniform, his own protective gear, against the armor in a frankly sexual, blatant, _ridiculously_ hot way.

Tony groaned, let his head push forward against the wall, let it loll forward helplessly as Steve laved and sucked at the back of his neck with his mouth.  Steve rewarded him by running his hands down over the armored forearms, up to his shoulders, then pushing him forward again, sliding his leather-covered hand down hard over the back of Tony’s neck, against the hot, tender, spit-slick spot his mouth had left, and rubbing.  “Good boy,” he murmured.

Tony growled at him despite the pleasure those words sent through him in waves, curling soft and warm in his belly, and Steve laughed, kissed the back of his head.

“What?” he said.  “You _are_ good.  You saved my red, white, and blue rear out there with that shot at that ray gun, you think I didn’t notice?”

“You’d have blocked it on your shield,” Tony said.  “Just saving you the time.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Steve said, his hand rubbing, massaging, at the sensitized back of Tony’s neck, squeezing firmly until Tony felt limp.  It was mostly cut off by the metal neck of the suit, but there was still enough sensation that it felt—it felt good, and Steve’s hand felt warm, commanding, on the back of his neck.

“You could show me your appreciation,” he pointed out, “a little more vividly, yeah?”

“Oh, someone’s eager today,” Steve said, laughing and warm at his back.  “You want it hard, Iron Man?”

“I want _you_ ,” Tony growled, and his fists clenched, gauntlets against the wall, couldn’t help it, his shoulders flexing until Steve shoved him back, pushed him down.  His cock was throbbing against his suit, gave an almost painful pulse of want, desire stabbing sharp into his gut, as Steve flexed his body, held him down, all human power against Tony’s metal and energy powerhouse.  Tony had never felt more aware of the smaller, more fragile physical flesh inside it, at least not without being in serious, dire, life-threatening trouble.  This was a lot more fun, and sent a strange thrill to coil deep in his body.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his fingers, up under his ear.  “Well, all right,” he said, and it was still playful, but it sounded heartfelt, too.  He rubbed his thumb over the thin metal strip that connected his helmet to the armor’s neckpiece, and Tony could feel it through the thin metal and shuddered. “I’ll give it to you good, pal.” He slid one knee up, rubbed it against the groin plate, between Tony’s spread legs.  “Just gotta open up for me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Say please,” Tony got out breathily.

He expected more fight, but Steve just squeezed at the back of Tony’s neck until his knees went weak and he dropped his forehead forward against the wall again, closing his eyes, and then leaned forward and murmured soft, breath warm and damp, in his ear, “Please.”

Tony moaned, couldn’t help it—thought in the back of his head, _they don’t call Steve a master tactician for nothing_ , because that had rung through him like a bell, reached deep into his belly and squeezed, and there was no way on this green earth he could have refused it—and reached down between his legs, scrabbling for the releases on his belt that would let him pull off the groin plate.

He was wearing an experimental new undersuit—and hey, it had worked great in the field today, so there was that—so once he’d dropped the groin plate to the floor, shivering at the touch of air against his throbbing cock, as it finally had some space to push out in front of him, against the padding in the undersuit, he unzipped himself, too, realizing the zipper he’d put in to make relieving himself easier was handy in more ways than one, even though, for whatever reason, he hadn’t thought about this possibility.  Which was stupid, because Steve was fired up and ready to go so often after a fight, and he should have—well, anyway.  Focus up, Tony.  They were doing something right now, something he enjoyed kind of a lot and didn’t want to space out on even a second of like that.

“Oh,” Steve breathed, reaching down so that his gloved fingers met Tony’s gauntleted ones, and then they took over on the zipper, pulling it back, slipping under it gently so that it didn’t catch against Tony’s underwear or his skin, and Tony felt warm at the care in that as Steve unzipped it all the way up past his asshole, then sucked in his breath.  “Tony,” he said, breathless.  “You—you’re wearing—”

Oh, right, the thong. It was just so much more comfortable when it came to the undersuit.  He could feel Steve’s leather-covered fingers trace over the curve of his ass, his hole, pull at the tiny string.  “Yeah, I am,” he said.  “You would too, if you had to wear something as—as tight and form-fitting as this undersuit is, let me tell you.”  Steve’s fingers on the curve of his ass were—were very distracting.

“Are you saying my pants aren’t tight compared to this little number?” Steve said, and Tony could hear the smile in his voice.

“Hey,” he managed to get out, even if his voice was throaty, husky, rasping as he spoke, still breathy and gasping, “if you want to start wearing this style, too, I could totally get some made in your size, no problem.”  Sure, Steve was a big guy, in all dimensions, but Tony had been outfitting him for years, knew his measurements backwards and forwards, all of them (and the sex hadn’t exactly hurt, there, either).  He could get something made for Steve no problem.

Steve chuckled a little, kissed the back of Tony’s neck. “I don’t think I have the rear for it,” he said. “But I’ll … I’ll think about it.”

Tony raised his head a little at that, offended and kind of thrilled that Steve would even consider wearing a thong all at the same time.  “Are you kidding?” he said.  “Have you seen your ass?  It’s gorgeous, honey.  You totally have the rear for it.  Steven Rogers, have people been telling you falsehoods about the lusciousness of your ass?”

Steve laughed helplessly, resting his head against the back of Tony’s neck, still leaning practically all his weight on him, pushing him into the wall, and Tony had to smile, even as he groaned, wriggling, his cock still so hot and rigid and desperately turned on, now fully able to harden and remind him of his need.  “Just,” Steve finally managed to gasp between helpless laughs, “it’s not.  Compared to yours.  Yours is so.” He gulped, pressed a kiss against the back of Tony’s head, behind his ear, then blew out a shuddering breath. “Yours is so beautiful,” he finally managed, “round and firm and high and, and thick, and hell, Tony, is it okay if I take you in the rear?”

“I thought we established this,” Tony muttered, and he was falling so easily back into that need, hot and clenching in his belly, desire shooting straight down to his cock, “I want you to wreck me, sweetheart.  What did you think I meant?  It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Steve said, took in a deep breath, and then his hands tightened on Tony again, pushing back against him, pushing him into the wall, “Okay.”  He rubbed his thumb at the back of Tony’s head again, pushed his head down, then his other arm was sliding off of Tony, not the arm holding him across his shoulders, but the other one.  The armor’s sensors couldn’t give Tony as much without the readouts in the helmet, so he waited there impatiently against the wall where Steve was holding him, cock throbbing and hard, eager to know what Steve was doing as Tony waited for him.

Eventually, he felt his thong tugged down, the cool smear of lube between his cheeks, at his hole, as Steve rocked a finger against him, and he sucked in his breath.  “Wait,” he managed, after a second, even as Steve circled that finger, pushed until it penetrated him just slightly, and he could feel the slide of that red leather, cooler than Steve’s skin, feeling so much thicker, slick with lube, and oh—oh God, that was Steve’s finger still in his glove pressing into him, damn, that was—that was incredibly hot, actually. “Is that lube?  Did you have that—did you have that in your utility belt?”

“Be prepared,” Steve said, and he sounded breathless, his voice very low again.  He was probably watching, Tony thought, and felt a little warm, a little self-conscious, a little turned on.  Steve loved to watch as he opened Tony up for him, and it always made Tony feel so—so _aware_ of what Steve was doing to him.  “Right?”

“I have some lube down here, somewhere,” Tony said, feeling very hot in the face, just—just all over, now. Even if now he couldn’t quite remember where he’d put it.  “And you can’t fool me, Captain Handsome, I know perfectly well you were never a boy scout.”

“Still a good idea to be prepared,” Steve said.  “It’s only a single packet, I’m sorry, Tony.  I can’t wait.”  He pressed his face into the back of Tony’s neck again, against his own hand, and even what little Tony could feel of his skin there felt hot, blazing hot.  “I just.  I need to be inside you,” he panted.  “’m sorry.  Should be more careful.  I—”

“I’ll be fine,” Tony said, his own voice sounding soft and thick, cutting him off, need twisting tight in his belly at that hot, heavy tone in Steve’s voice.  Steve wanted _him_ that much.  He was the one who had put that need, that desire, that tremble of lust there in Steve’s voice, so that he was panting, desperate, against the back of Tony’s neck, he needed him so badly.  Steve had another lube-slick, leather-covered finger inside Tony now, not exactly rough, but almost fumbling, shaking in his eagerness, and the stretch was enough to be a strain, make Tony feel tight and stretched and aching a little, but not bad. “’m not gonna break, big guy.  I can take it once in a while.” 

“Sorry,” Steve said, panting desperately, even as he worked his slick fingers deeper, pushing more and more lube into Tony with his thumb, pulling on his rim and working him more and more open inside, nothing like his usual slow, careful preparation, but quick and fast and urgent, and it wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it still sent heat and want straight to Tony’s cock, until he was rocking his hips, trying to press down on the invasive, stretching fingers (just a little bigger then Steve’s broad fingers were usually in the leather glove), not because of the pleasure necessarily, but because his hips wanted to move, wanted to rut against something, and Steve’s fingers were there, a solid, stretching presence inside him.

“Don’t be sorry,” he finally remembered to pant.  “’s fine. Won’t break.”

Steve was shivering behind him, pressed all up and down against him, the armor told Tony, even as he slid his fingers out of Tony, and then he could feel him fumbling at himself, his own fastenings and protective coverings and all the rest of it, Tony knew. It seemed to take a long time, and Tony felt himself winding tighter and tighter in anticipation.  His hole seemed to feel very wet, a little cold, loose and open and aching a little with the stretch of Steve’s fingers even now they’d pulled out of him. Then there was one more slick slide of lube-covered leathered fingers over his hole, and Steve was pushing into him.

His dick felt huge against Tony’s hole, less stretched than normal, almost bigger than it had ever felt, as big and impossible as the first time.  Steve had slicked himself, obviously, because the stretch and push was slippery, but Tony heard himself suck in a ragged breath, bit down on his bottom lip to stop himself making any sound and making Steve feel guilty about it. His asshole throbbed, clenching down tight around the intrusion of Steve’s massive length, hot and needy and pulsing wet, and Tony gasped, clenched his gauntleted fists against the wall and tried to relax for the massive thickness of it, the way it stretched him open.  It made him feel very warm inside, hot and stretched and open, very aware of the way his heart raced, throbbing, in his chest, pounded in his head.  He felt dizzy.

He knew Steve was being careful, as careful as he could be this turned on, probably, gripping onto Tony’s neck tightly even as he must have been guiding himself in with the other hand, rubbing himself back and forth over the hole and Tony’s crease before moving back to push himself in again, pull out, push in—but it felt overwhelming, an impossible stretch.  Until, finally, Tony felt the blunt head of Steve pop in past his internal muscles, and finally felt something in his muscles relax at that, a flare of tight not-quite pain and heat and stretch until he settled down, felt his muscles loosen, better able to welcome Steve inside now that they’d somehow accepted him.  It still felt like a vast, almost impossible stretch, but now it felt almost good, too, a burning ache around a kind of throbbing pleasure at the stretch and weight and heat and the feeling of Steve inside him.

“You feel so good, Shellhead,” Steve panted, almost moaning, against Tony’s ear.

“So do you, sweetheart,” Tony said on a little gasping laugh.  “So do you.”

“You’re soft again,” Steve mumbled, a mashed together jumble of sounds, against Tony’s jaw, almost questioning.

“It happens,” Tony gasped, smiling.  He felt lightheaded, fizzy and flying and warm and light.  “When you push in.  It’s kind of a lot.  I feel good; I’m fine.  Fuck me, big boy; go to town, already, will you, buster?”  The overwhelming feeling of it kind of helped with that, sometimes, made him feel so warm and dizzy and pulled out of his body, flying high.

“Mmm,” Steve moaned, and nuzzled against his jaw.  “If you’re, you’re sure.”  And then Steve was fucking him, sliding deep and rocking back, nearly out of his body, before he pushed into him again.  It wasn’t smooth, there was a rough friction as he pushed Tony open, spread him wide, around each thrust, and the dragging intensity of it over the slickness of the lube, so much less than they normally used, had Tony gasping desperately for breath on each thrust, trying to concentrate so he didn’t punch his gauntleted hands right through the wall as Steve pushed in on a particularly decisive, overwhelming thrust.  He’d turned the repulsors off before they’d even started fooling around with each other like this, but would still be embarrassing to crack the wall of his own workshop because he was so far gone on a deep dicking from Captain America he couldn’t handle it.

Steve started slow, but that didn’t last.  Before long, he was speeding up, and Tony just crossed his armored arms against the wall and buried his face in them and gasped, needing the familiar self-protective posture somehow, even as he buried his face against smooth metal, felt it sweaty and hot against the cool surface.

“God, Tony, you feel so good,” Steve was panting against him, “you feel so good, so incredible.” His words would trail off every few seconds into deep, gasping grunts, long, desperate moans that skipped like a bad audio track.  Tony couldn’t think anymore, just let the words wash over him, felt the warm pleasure rising in him as Steve pistoned in and out of him with rapid, bruising force, as each word of praise (beautiful, wonderful, perfect, incredible, you feel so good, Tony, you feel so good, you are so good, so good to me) rang in his ears, swept through his body.  When Steve came inside him, a pulsing throb of wet warmth, Tony was almost surprised to realized that he was achingly hard again himself, his cock bobbing needily between his legs.

He didn’t have long to wait, though.  Steve slumped against his back, his hand slipped down over the armor’s shoulders, and he pressed a wet, sloppy kiss to the sliver of skin there, but then he was reaching around Tony, damp glove sliding over Tony’s hip, thumbing gently at the metallic curve there, before it closed around Tony’s cock.  He jerked him once, twice, three times, and damn, he knew just how to touch him, rubbing his thumb over the head where he was most sensitive, giving him smooth jerks up and down, and Tony was coming in just a couple of seconds, pleasure sparking high and hot and soaring through his body, come pumping out of him all over—all over Captain America’s glove, holy shit. Steve just kept stroking him, nuzzling all sweet and soft against the back of his neck, and all Tony could feel, could think about, was the pleasure, how high and hot and perfect it felt arching through him, like the perfect feeling of taking off with his bootjets, but shot through with warm soft honeyed physical pleasure at the same time that made his skin prickle pleasantly all over.  His whole body felt honey-sweet and dizzy when he was done, and he fell to one knee with a clang, barely caught himself with one hand against the wall.

Steve rolled free, landing on his ass beside him, and Tony raised his head, just managed, “Sorry,” before Steve looked at him, laughing, brilliant grin on his face, and shook his head.

“Don’t be,” he said, “that was just what I needed, damn,” and leaned in, one hand on Tony’s face, bringing him in for a kiss that was surprisingly soft, warm and sweet on his lips. “Don’t be,” Steve breathed, and wrapped his other hand around Tony’s neck as they kissed again.  “That was so good.  Damn, I love you.”

And all Tony could do was wrap an arm around him and pull him in closer, despite how ruffled and debauched the two of them were in their armor, their uniforms.  After all, he thought, as Steve moaned and arched up against him, breathing sweetly into his mouth, in a way, it wasn’t just Steve and Tony who were so desperately in love, it was Captain America and Iron Man, too, wasn’t it?


End file.
